


Flames Burn Higher

by majorshipper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hell, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Psychological Torture, Season/Series 05, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorshipper/pseuds/majorshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A hand is carding through his hair affectionately and someone is mouthing at the curve of his ear.</i></p><p>Spoilers for the end of S5, inspired by events from S7 but without explicit spoilers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flames Burn Higher

Sam’s hanging, suspended, by the hooks shoved deep in his skin, when Lucifer steps in close. It feels like he’s been here forever, and there is no time in Hell. Time is Lucifer’s domain, and Sam learned long ago not to trust it.

There’s a hand on his thigh, ice against fire, nudging his legs apart for Lucifer to step into, even closer. He slides forward, knives below him sinking and skating across his chest and stomach as the hooks in the meat of shoulders tear and swing him back against the Devil.

Blood is dripping from his mouth, his tongue bitten clean through to stop the screams when it he slides in, sick and sudden. Sam’s whole body rocks forwards and back in time with Lucifer’s thrusts, rhythm and pain marking the steps forward and back.

It’s even worse when he feels the frozen contact of Lucifer’s chest against his back as he curls around him and nudges his ear, slides one of his hands around Sam, easing him up and off the bed of knives and further onto Lucifer. It’s still impossible to stop the groan that slides through his split lips as his already-mangled legs give out under him and he pulls tight against the hooks, caught between an inexorable force beneath him and an unrelenting pull above.

Time passes like this, strung up and pinned like some kind of animal on display, but it’s impossible to know how much. Lucifer snaps his fingers and the chains and hooks disappear. Sam slides to the floor, curled in on himself, when Lucifer follows, slotting against him, the big spoon to Sam’s little spoon.

It can’t be any worse than this. Lucifer slings an arm around Sam’s waist and pulls him tight against him, back to front, some strange parody of affection, and Sam just wants to curl up and sleep and never wake up.

 

***

 

“No!”

Lucifer is raging, and the walls of the cage vibrate with his anger. Sam hasn’t seen Adam or Michael, and he doesn’t know if he should be grateful or not. Right now, he’s a bit more worried about what he’s done, who he’s trapped with.

He did it; he saved the world.

He did it; he let Lucifer out. So maybe this is justice. Maybe it’s penance to be subjected to the whims of a fallen archangel for the rest of eternity.

Lightning cracks above Sam, and the prospect terrifies him. His ears feel like they should be bleeding, vibrating, anything, from the chaos that is Lucifer over his head, but he knows this is hell, and he doesn’t even have ears. Nothing he has here is real, and that will keep him sane. He’s sure of it.

Satan coalesces in front of him, and he looks like his last vessel. He smiles grimly, sadly, at Sam.

“You’re going to regret that, Sammy.”

And then he’s moving, on top of Sam easily. He’s pinned, his arms and legs immobilized, when Lucifer slides between his legs, looming over him maliciously. There’s anger radiating in every direction; Sam can feel it in his not-real bones. It’s terrible and frightening and Sam doesn’t know what to do, other than close his eyes and remember that nothing is real.

It gets a lot harder when Lucifer follows him into his head and makes him watch as he effortlessly slips and slides into every nook of Sam, slotting in like a demented puzzle piece.

There are no words, not while Sam’s tied down shotgun in Satan’s mind, free tickets to watch his own contorted body as Lucifer rapes him, tears him apart from the inside out and buries himself in Sam’s mind and body, carving out a new home, but he can feel his voice, breathy and dark against his ears; _you’re mine, now, Sam, for all eternity, my little bitch. Might as well get used to it, kiddo. Besides, I’d thought you already knew this was all you’re good for; made a perfect fit for me._

If there were actual walls that made up the cage, then Sam is sure his screams would be echoing off of them.

 

***

 

He comes back to a hand slowly jacking him off, and before he realizes who what were he is, he’s bucking up into it, human instinct taking its turn in Sam’s brain.

Lucifer chuckles against him, cooling the blood-matted hairs on the back of his neck. Instantly, Sam stills, terror and shame mixing and pooling in his gut, spreading that sickening feeling all through him until he just wants to fall back into his head, where at least all Lucifer does is play with his mind.

But Lucifer knows that, and he knows Sam, knows how to play him like a fiddle. He scrapes fingernails down Sam’s stomach, and Sam bites back a muffled groan as he goes back to smooth, lazy strokes. It’s wrong and bad and Sam’s desperate to control himself and stop this, but he _can’t_.

He curls up into himself even more, trying to wedge himself into a ball, but he can’t bring his legs up, because there’s a leg tangled up in his, and the voice at his ear is firm; “Stop, Sam.” He knows better than to ignore it; knows the fire and ice and pain and not-pain and confusion that results from fighting it, and so he stills. Maybe if he’s lucky, Lucifer’ll get bored. But he doesn’t stop, though, never stops, not even in the beginning when Sam begged and pleaded and was desperate. Its pain edged out by just enough pleasure and everything hell is when he comes, and there’s blood dripping down his collarbone where Lucifer’s taken to biting down at the juncture of his shoulder. Someone’s rubbing circles on his back, he notices dimly.

The voice against his back is painfully familiar and Sam is already trying too hard not to cry at Dean’s voice( _because Sam Winchester doesn’t cry his way through sex, right, Sam, that’s what you say_ ), soothing words spilling out, _you’re fine, you’re fine, it’s all good, c’mon Sammy, we’re here, wake up, you big lump, don’t make me drag your lazy ass out of bed_.

Against all his newly-minted instincts, Sam relaxes against the Dean at his back, his fingers working their way through Sam’s singed and bloody hair. There is no other instinct but Dean, and maybe that’s a problem, but right now Sam can’t see it. When Sam opens his eyes, he’s in a motel somewhere and Dean is pulled tight against his back, a leg slipped between his unconsciously.

 

Something feels strange, off, like it’s not quite right, but Sam doesn’t follow it up, counts it all up to the strangeness of a _good_ day, and instead crawls out of bed and away from the nightmares.

He walks into the tiny little bathroom and watches Dean’s reflection in the mirror snore into the pillow, smiles fondly at his brother. He washes his face, brushes his teeth, and catches another glimpse of Dean in the mirror, this time curled up embarrassingly around the extra pillow in the king-sized bed. Sam’ll have to tease him about that later.

He turns to dry his hands on the bright red towel, and freezes as flashes of fire and flames and whiteorangered _hot_ fill his vision.

“You never left me, silly,” Lucifer says from beside him, and the mirror shatters into a million pieces as the motel room fades from Sam’s mind. Lucifer’s hand is around his throat and he’s up against a wall and flames are licking up the inside of his jacket and he can’t breathe and he can’t focus and he doesn’t know what’s happening anymore when-

 

He wakes up. A hand is carding through his hair affectionately and someone is mouthing at the curve of his ear. Heat licks up the outside of his leg, and he can smell burning flesh. _His_ burning flesh.

“Heya, Sam,” Lucifer says against his neck. “Ready for another round?”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, this is so far outside my comfort zone. I originally started this right after 701 aired, but I didn't finish until after 703...and then couldn't decide if I was going to post it. Obviously, I have.


End file.
